


Inside Rein, Outside Leg

by CodenameMeretricious



Series: Baker Farms [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Equestrian!lock, Fluff, M/M, equestrian AU, ponies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-28
Updated: 2015-07-18
Packaged: 2018-03-20 02:18:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3632994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CodenameMeretricious/pseuds/CodenameMeretricious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vignettes of life after the Trials. Not necessarily a full-on sequel to Eyes Up, Heels Down, but each scene takes place afterward.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Lesson

Noble Bachelor was living up to his nickname.

“Honestly, John,” Sherlock scolded, standing in the middle of the ring with his hands on his hips.

John dug his heel into the Frisian’s side once more, eliciting no response. “It’s not my fault your horse is a complete _dick_.”

“He is doing nothing wrong.”

“He is doing _nothing_.” John growled at the horse, twisting his ankle in the stirrup so the spur more solidly dug into the horse’s side. Dick did nothing, merely snorted and swished his tail.

“Do be serious,” Sherlock said. He’d decided that John needed to work on his dressage (most likely because he felt like mocking John that day rather than teaching him) and had stuck him on Bachelor not long after the morning feed had been completed.

“I. Am. Trying,” John said, punctuating each word with a harsh kick to the animal’s side. He wasn’t nearly strong enough to hurt the thing, nor were his spurs any larger than two centimeters of rounded steel, and he desperately longed for the dressage whip casually leaned against the mounting block next to Sherlock.

“No. You’re. Not,” Sherlock snapped back.

“How am I supposed to practice anything if he doesn’t _move_?”

“Ask him correctly and he will.”

“You’re a terrible teacher.”

“Hence why I dislike clinics.”

“You love clinics,” John said. “You get paid to bark at people.” He gave the horse another weary kick and clucked loudly.

“Oh, for the love of—“ Sherlock rolled his eyes and walked over, Bachelor immediately stepping out when he saw his rider coming toward him.

“Of course,” John groaned, collecting up the reins and nudging the horse on as they finally began to move. “Grand prix, my arse.”

“He’s grand prix, John, not you.”

“Thanks for the reminder.”

“Anytime.” Sherlock grinned at him and John shook his head, focusing on the now moving horse beneath him. Though Bachelor was shorter than Elmer, he was thicker, his barrel far more round and the dressage saddle comfortable but foreign.

“I still don’t understand why you’re too lazy to work your own horses.”

“You need the practice far more than I.”

“You’re so humble. I really love that about you.”

“Pick up a trot at A.”

John did as he was told, trying to loosen his hips and seat as the horse moved into a forward trot. Now that he was actually moving, he was quite a nice ride. Though that wasn’t a surprise, considering his price tag. John was still pretty positive that Sherlock’s family owned a small country or something.

“I know for a fact your hips are more flexible than that,” Sherlock said. “Relax.”

John glanced at the center of the ring, wondering how on earth he was supposed to relax with Sherlock smirking at him like that. He shook his head and turned back to the horse, bringing the great head down onto the bit and trying to soften his seat, going with the motion rather than fighting it.

“Open,” Sherlock barked. “Soften your back but hold your stomach.”

John rolled his shoulders, trying to relax but tighten his core. It really was inappropriate to try and ride while thinking of just how loose he knew his hips could be. Still, Sherlock’s were even more flexible, which usually worked quite to John’s advantage…

“You only get me on my back if you can ride the damn horse,” Sherlock said, breaking into John’s thoughts.

“You do know that children take lessons here,” John reminded him, glancing out of the arena to see if anyone was nearby.

There was someone, of course.

“Gents,” Greg said, nodding as he walked by leading the new yearling and her dam out to their small paddock.

John had to close his eyes and breathe through his nose. Unfortunately it was far from the first time that this had happened. Sherlock’s lack of filter was renowned across the farm. “Who even says I was thinking about that?” John asked, circling the horse around Sherlock in the center.

“Of course you were,” Sherlock said, dismissing him with a flick of his hand. “Change direction.”

John took the diagonal, focusing on his seat and keeping a steady rhythm. Eventually his body settled and he was reminded of the distant days when he’d actually practiced and competed in dressage. Granted, he’d never been much for the higher levels, but he usually pulled a solid enough score to remain in the top 20. It really was true though that a rider won an event in the dressage and kept it through jumping. Shame he had never been as good. Then again, when compared to a tall, willowy rider like Sherlock, there really wasn’t all that much he could do. They’d already shortened the stirrups of Sherlock’s dressage saddle far more than John cared to admit.

“There,” Sherlock said. “Easier, right?”

John nodded, his bones no longer jarring as his heels took most of the shock and his body settled into the saddle.

“Pick up a canter.”

John did, the horse now playing nice under the watchful eye of his rider and giving John a smooth upward transition. Despite the horse’s attitude, he really was a great animal. Still, the big black horse really didn’t need to throw a fit each time John went to muck his stall.

John rode the black horse around the ring, focusing on his position as he felt the judging stare of Sherlock, watching silently from the center. It was usually bad when Sherlock was silent.

“Something wrong?” John called, changing direction with a flying change across the diagonal.

“Mmm, I’d almost forgotten how attractive you are on a horse.”

“You’re the Trial winner, not me,” John snorted, using his heel to push the horse back toward the rail when he’d started to drift inward.

“Still, I like it.” Sherlock grinned and John brought the horse down to a walk, allowing him to stretch.

“Well now you know how I feel every time I have to watch you.”

“You watch me every day,” Sherlock said.

“Exactly.”

John halted the horse before Sherlock, looking down at him. Sherlock stepped over, reaching up to pull John down, crushing their lips together despite the horse between them and John’s helmet. Much as he had when their roles had been reversed and caught on camera for the entire world to see, Sherlock didn’t seem to care much at all if anyone was watching.

“You’ve got to stop doing that,” John said, pulling back slightly but not yet straightening up, despite the strain in his back.

“Doing what?” Sherlock said, blinking slowly up at John. “It’s our thing now, John, didn’t you read the news?”

John had, unfortunately, and found that the photo was printed on no less than five magazines and playing on a loop online across the world. “Yes, because you definitely care what people say.”

“I don’t give a single shit about them. But your arse looks great in breeches.” Sherlock pinched the arse in question before stepping back. “Now work on your half-pass, you’re horrid.”

John rolled his eyes, making sure Sherlock caught it, before moving the horse back out onto the rail and collecting the reins. He did need work on his half-pass though.

A half-hour later Sherlock finally allowed him to stop, telling him that it wasn’t the most wretched riding he’d seen. High praise indeed.

John cooled Bachelor out, still pretty sure that Dick was the most fitting of nicknames, and returned the horse to his stall with a flake of hay to keep him busy. They were hauling Elmer down to a London for the weekend so that he and Sherlock could do a _Vogue_ photoshoot of all things. John still had to load the trailer, do turnout, jump on Pip, and hold a few school horses for the farrier.

“Do let someone else take care of it,” Sherlock said, leaning against a stall as John led his pony nemesis out to his pasture.

“I do get paid to work here, remember?”

“I pay you enough.”

“You pay me some.”

He led the little pony out, Sherlock following (and whining) the whole way there.

“Really, can’t we just go to London early?” Sherlock said.

“You hate taking holidays,” John reminded him. “’Takes you away from the work’ or whatever.”

“Mmm yes, but that was before I went on holiday with _you_.”

“I’m flattered. But we’re still not going to London early.”

Sherlock pouted at him before turning his nose haughtily toward the sky.

“Don’t be dramatic, some of us have to work for a living. We don’t get paid to pose in fashion magazines.”

“It’s raising awareness for the sport,” Sherlock said.

“It’s raising your ego, which does not need any raising,” John reminded him.

They walked back into the barn, Sally raising an eyebrow at Sherlock following John doggedly around the barn. Sherlock, however, caught this and sent a seething glare her way, causing her to duck her head, scowl, and storm over to Greg’s office.

“You really could be nicer to her,” John said.

“I really couldn’t.” Sherlock stepped in front of John, preventing him from reaching the halter he needed to take Silver Blaze out.

“Really?” John said.

“You work too much.”

John just stood their, waiting for Sherlock to tire of his own game. Sherlock met his eyes, the icy blue daring him to give up. But Sherlock knew him better than that. “We’re not shagging at the barn so give it up.”

Sherlock frowned at him. “Such a dirty mind. I merely want to spend time with you.”

“We spend every bloody day together.”

“Don’t sound so excited about it.”

John sighed and leaned forward, one hand on Sherlock’s chest as he reached up to press their lips together. It was still new, this lack of secrecy and hiding. Not that he was about to make grand displays of affection in front of the barn staff, and they still had to be wary around the less than accepting parents of a few of the children, but it was nice, being able to kiss Sherlock when he wanted to.

Sherlock softened, bending down into their kiss, his lips warm and perfect on John’s. John pulled back and chuckled, looking up at Sherlock whose eyes had turned turquoise.

“Let me finish everything here and we’ll turn in early, yeah?” John asked, hand still pressed to Sherlock’s chest. He could feel heat coming through the thin fleece jacket.

“If you insist,” Sherlock said, voice rumbling up John’s arm.

“Insatiable,” John laughed.

“I believe some would call it besotted.”

“So difficult, this whole love thing, isn’t it?” John dropped his hand, smiling up at Sherlock.

Sherlock pursed his lips. “I could get used to it.”

John shook his head and stepped forward, reaching around Sherlock for the blue halter and leadrope. “Now, I’ve got work to do. Go practice finding your light in the mirror.”

“I already know my best angles, John,” Sherlock scoffed. Thankfully Sherlock’s phone buzzed in his pocket then. With a disdainful sigh, he answered it. “Dearest brother, any headway?” He spun on his heel, John quite forgotten as he listened to whatever Mycroft was saying.

John grabbed another halter and headed out to bring the horses in. If he hurried he might even be able to convince Sherlock to join him for dinner.


	2. Needy

It wasn’t often that John Watson found himself irritated to the point of anger with Sherlock, especially in the bedroom, however, tonight Sherlock seemed eager to test the limits of John’s patience.

“You know,” John huffed, grabbing Sherlock’s wrists and pinning them above his head on the pillow, “you’re rarely this demanding.”

“Harder,” Sherlock growled, wrapping his legs around John, heels pressed into John’s back and arse.

They’d been away for the past two weeks, Sherlock insistent that John travel with him for a series of clinics across England and Scotland. Wales hadn’t gotten any, though John wasn’t sure why.

“Really, you’re just being rude,” John said, bending down to nip at the underside of Sherlock’s jaw. Once the clinics had finished and Sherlock was no longer distracted by berating riders for their ‘complete lack of equine sensibility’ he’d become needy to the point of clinginess, barely allowing them to make it to the bedroom before stripping John down to nothing and practically throwing him on their bed.

“You’re being slow.” Sherlock wrapped his legs tighter, forcing John to slip a fraction of an inch further inward. They both gasped.

John squeezed his eyes shut, trying not to mindlessly rut into the tight, wet heat surrounding him. He groaned at the high, keening sound of need that Sherlock let out.

John was quickly learning that Sherlock either wasn’t at all interested in sex, or very, very interested indeed.

“Christ, just give it a minute,” he said, resting his forehead on Sherlock’s chest, finally releasing the restless arms so that he could support himself. Long fingers immediately combed through his hair, wrapping around his shoulders and pulling him closer.

“Move!” Sherlock growled again and shifted his hips, grinding up to force John deeper.

And then he clucked.

John blinked, lifting his head.

“You did not just cluck at me.”

Sherlock flushed a bit, more red than he already was, but refused to look ashamed. “You won’t move.”

John pulled back, sitting more upright so that he could look down at Sherlock. As much as his body wanted to respond to the growing need in his groin, he forced himself to stop moving. “You did not just _cluck_ at me.”

“For God’s sake.” Sherlock wrapped his hands around John’s hips, trying to force him to move. His pupils were dilated and John could read the raw need across his face, but he had his pride.

“I’m not a bloody horse, Sherlock,” he growled.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and John pinned his shoulders to the bed before he could try and flip them over.

“Jesus-”

“Get over it and _move_.” Sherlock was verging on desperate now, his eyes narrowing as he wriggled beneath John, trying to force more friction.

“Not until you apologize,” John said, biting his lip as Sherlock tightened around him. It had been a while and the foggy haze of climax wasn’t too far off, but he held his ground, trying to make his point before sparks and fire overwhelmed him.

Sherlock hummed, a sound that was a mix of desperate need and irritated growl. Thankfully Mrs. Hudson was out for the evening, but John was still often surprised about how vocal Sherlock could be when the mood struck him.

As it was, John was rather happy to cool things down for a bit. If he didn’t win this battle, he would never hear the end of it. He bent down, still pinning smooth shoulders, and kissed his way across Sherlock’s cheek, grinning against the muffled groan in Sherlock’s throat. He worked his way across the slightly stubbled skin, letting his tongue run across the shell of left ear before nipping the lobe into his mouth, sucking lightly.

Sherlock groaned and shuttered, stomach dipping before he took in a breath. John bit harder.

“Fine!” Sherlock turned his head, making John lean back slightly before lips captured lips and Sherlock was mumbling an apology into the kiss. “Now for the love of all things holy, will you _move_?”

"Yes, dear," John said, shifting his weight so he could plant his hands on the mattress. Sherlock at least had the decency to look somewhat ashamed for a second before immediately turning back into the brash, needy lover. 

Heat surrounded them, John once again focusing on his own growing need. He bit his lip, eyes closed as he began to move, hips picking up speed. He felt Sherlock reach down, keeping one hand on John's shoulder while taking himself in hand with the other. It really should be John helping out, Sherlock was, after all, the one on his back, but the bastard frankly deserved to do the work tonight.

"Fuck," John groaned, shivering as he found Sherlock's prostate, muscles clamping down around him as Sherlock hissed in pleasure. Nails bit into his back but it was only a mild distraction before white began to creep into the edges of his vision. He reached down, grabbing one of Sherlock's hips to anchor him, angling himself to set them both off. Three more strained breaths and fire spread from the base of his spine all the way to his brain, melting away his every sense save touch. He gasped as orgasm took him, barely aware that Sherlock was furiously trying to join him. They both groaned and John collapsed as waves of fire spread over him, lapping around his hot skin and making every point of contact with Sherlock a spark of sensation. Sherlock twitched beneath him, breath shallow as they rode out the remainder of their releases.

"You're still a bastard," John gasped, barely getting enough breath to roll himself off of Sherlock and to his side.

Sherlock let out a slight groan as John pulled out, hissing as cool air hit hot skin. They were both panting and John still couldn't bear to open his eyes.

"All right, so you're not into role-play," Sherlock said, voice rough.

John gave a half-hearted chuckle. "Not as a horse, no." He opened his eyes, turning his head to see Sherlock. Sweat glistened along his brow and upper lip and John fought the urge to reach over and lick it away.

"Good to know."

"You're a prick."

Sherlock mumbled some kind of response but John didn't listen, trying to gather enough strength to walk to the loo and clean himself up. Sherlock never got out of bed for that, rather he waited for John to return and do it for him. Because the bastard wasn't entitled enough. Still, John didn't want the sheets stickier than they already were and it wasn't exactly the greatest smell to be pressed up against for the rest of the night.

"I'll do it."

"What?" John blinked as Sherlock heaved himself out of the bed, pale skin turned gold in the light from the lamp across the room.

Sherlock returned a moment later, wet cloth in hand. His skin was still pink and flushed, and John paused to look for a moment before taking the offered cloth. Once clean, he tossed it onto the pile of washing he already needed to do and flipped to his side, facing Sherlock.

"How long have you been holding that one back?" John asked.

"Honestly, you'd think a little impulsion every now and then-"

John just groaned, reaching out to pull Sherlock closer. Sherlock let himself be moved, burying his head into John's neck and wrapping an arm around John's middle. "Shut up."

Sherlock huffed a breath against his chest but didn't say anymore. John ran his fingers over Sherlock's back. Everything was fine until Sherlock decided to open his mouth. It was always his downfall. Something to work on, though John very much doubted the rider would ever be seen as enjoyable company by anyone other than himself and Mrs. Hudson. Life was interesting, that was for sure.


End file.
